"Oh, yes," said Mr. Briggs. "If you peep in at the window, you will see a shelf full of books. He seems to have taken this way to make a hermit of himself—not a bad way, either, in these modern times, when there are no uninhabited wilds to retire to, and when a little money income is absolutely necessary to existence."
"I should like to know his history," said Father.
"Either he has committed some crime—forgery, perhaps—and escaped," said Mr. Briggs, "or he has quarrelled with his family, or in some way been disappointed."
"I don't think it's for any crime," said Father; "his appearance forbids that."
"Still, you can't always tell," said Mr. Briggs. "I tried to make his acquaintance once, but did not succeed. I am told he repels all advances. Even the Presbyterian minister, whose church he attends, can't get at him."
"I understand he likes the boys, and makes their acquaintance," said Father.
We had now arrived at our gate, and Mr. Briggs said good evening, and passed on.
It was true that Jack-in-the-Box was partial to boys; in fact, nobody else could make his acquaintance. He liked to have us come and talk with him, but never wanted more than two or three to come at a time. Perhaps this was on account of the size of the box. We used to consult him on all sorts of occasions, and got a great many shrewd hints and useful bits of information from him.
The inside of the box was a romance to me. I never saw so many things in so small a space. In one corner was a stove about as large as a coffee-pot, and beside it a sheet-iron coal-box, not much larger. In another corner stood the red flag, when it was furled, and a hatchet. Behind the door, hung flat on the wall, was a large coil of rope. Overhead, on one side, was a shelf, nearly filled with tools and trinkets. On the opposite side—lower, but still over the window—was another shelf, filled with books. I took a special interest in this shelf, and studied the backs of the books so often, that I think I can give the title of every one, in their order. They were, beginning at the left hand, a Bible, "Essays of Elia," "Henry Esmond," "Life of Columbus," "Twice-told Tales," "Anatomy of Melancholy," "Modern Painters," "The Shadows of the Clouds," "The Middle Ages," "Undine and Sintram," "Tales of the Great St. Bernard," "Sordello," "Divina Commedia," "Sophoclis Tragoediæ," "Demosthenis Orationes," "Platonis Dialogi," "Q. Horatii Flacci Opera," "Robinson Crusoe," "Byron's Poems," and Shakespeare. I was so curious about them, that I copied off all the hard ones on a card, and, when I went home, tried to find out what they were.
Under the book-shelf, at one side of the window, fastened to the wall, was a little alarm-clock. Jack knew exactly what time every train would come along. As soon as one had passed, and he had rolled up his flag, he used to set the alarm so that it would go off two minutes before the next train was due. Then he could sit down with his book, and be sure of not forgetting his duty.